kites

 Yesterday Allyn said that the day somehow felt different. It had a different quality to it, like it was possible that some day winter would be over and spring would arrive. I said I had felt the same way earlier in the day on our walk. In sunny places, all of the ice was gone. You could actually feel a little bit of a cushion underfoot when walking on muddy ground.

We live an a valley that runs north and south, like most of Vermont. This is conducive to wind, and yesterday was no exception, except that it was. There was a wind from the west, but it was not the same as yesterday. Either the wind had changed or I had. I found myself thinking of kites.

rivulet, puddle, mud and splash

 Temperatures in the mid 40's yesterday. Saw a flock of about a dozen goldfinches on an apple tree in the back, and heard the sound of a cardinal for the first time in a long time. Ice is disappearing from dirt roads, and digging out such words as rivulet, puddle, mud and splash.

started

 Sunny today with a high around 40. Piles of snow along the lane keep getting higher. The snow was up to my knees yesterday when taking out the compost.

Sound of the reverse osmosis machine across the road. This contraption actually sucks the sap out of the trees. Saw a truck with some sap in it yesterday. The season is getting started.

Political signs blossoming in town as we gear up for Town Meeting (without the actual meeting part). Don't think you can call them lawn signs at this time of year.

traction

 Sunday was a beautiful sunny day. Shadows manifesting a beautiful shade of dark blue under the oaks and the maples.

The sun melted much of the ice and snow in the road. The walking was easy. It was about 18 degrees when we went out on Monday. The melted snow had reverted to ice and the road was very slippery. When this happens, the dirt roads often become sheets of ice and the best walking (and driving) is along the sides of the roads.

When snow is compacted, it turns to ice. This happens less on the roadsides, and we hill folk often take advantage of this.

I also noticed that when the wind blows, it deposits the new snow along the sides of the roads, and not so much in the middle. This also improves the traction there.

call of the wild

 One to three inches of snow expected today. It keeps piling up. Piercing cries from a pack of coyotes from out of the darkness this morning. This is about as close as we get to the call of the wild here in Vermont.

The snow is beautiful, but it's hard not to think about the deer and the other animals that are struggling right now. This has got to be about the most difficult time of the year for them.

landscape and memory

 "One November dawn, long before the sun rose, I began a vigil at the Dumont Dunes in the Mojave Desert in California, which I kept until a few minutes after the sun broke the horizon. During that time I named to myself the colors by which the sky changed and by which the sand itself flowed like a rising tide through grays and silvers and blues into yellows, pinks, washed duns, and fallow beiges.

 It is through the power of observation, the gifts of eye and ear, of tongue and nose and finger, that a place first rises up in our mind, afterward it is memory that carries the place, that allows it to grow in depth and complexity. For as long as our records go back, we have held these two things dear, landscape and memory."

 The American Geographies

About This Life

Barry Lopez

carve

 17 degrees this morning, but the sun is stronger and staying around longer. The effects of this bright light  are noticeable on sunny days. Snow melts off of roofs and paved highways, reflecting the blue dome overhead.

 Even with temperatures below freezing, bare ground is revealed for the first time in a long time on south-facing slopes as the sun and wind "carve" the snow.

sojourn

 No one of these places, of course, can be entirely fathomed, biologically or aesthetically. They are mysteries upon which we impose names. Enchantments. We tick the names off glibly but lovingly. We mean no disrespect. Our genuine desire, though we may be skeptical about the time it would take and uncertain of its practical value to us is to actually know these places. As deeply ingrained in the American psyche as the desire to conquer and control the land is the desire to sojourn in it, to sail up and down Pamlico Sound, to paddle a canoe through Minnesota's boundary waters, to walk on the desert of the Great Salt Lake, to camp in the stony hardwood valleys of Vermont.

The American Geographies

About This Life

Barry Lopez

over

 The patter of sleet on the windows in the middle of the night. We were expecting snow, but it was too warm. Temperature is now in the mid forties. I shoveled the two or three inches of sleet off the walkway out front. It was very heavy, like shoveling cement. It's supposed to get cold for a few days and then days in the 30's with nighttime temperatures in the 20's, perfect temperatures for the start of the maple sugaring season. It feels like the long and magical season of midwinter is over.

seasons of soups and blankets

 Got down to -12 over the weekend. Had to put an extra blanket on the bed. Season of soups, many recipes coming from the NY Times.

This one is called potato and white bean puttanesca soup.

 

crystalline pipe organ

 Rocky ledges along roadsides reflect the winter season. Freezing seepage looks like a crystalline pipe organ.

This photo is not from this year, but from an early winter day some years ago.

first sign of spring

 The first sign of spring is not crocuses.

It is not robins in the back yard or steam from the sugar house.

It's frost heaves in the usual places on a country road.

The road's starting to get pretty bumpy at the bend in the road on the way to the town hall.

warmth

 This blog is mostly about small changes in the world here on the other side of the creek. I have been doing this in some fashion for 14 years. Something occurred to me the other day that I have experienced almost every single winter's day during that time and I've never mentioned it, never been aware that it was even worth mentioning. That is the feeling of coming in from the cold, knocking the snow off my boots  and feeling the warmth in the kitchen from the wood burning stove. There's really nothing else like it.

And that is my reward for doing this blog. Simply being more aware of the conditions in my life, mundane and miraculous.

amaryllis

 Yesterday was sunny with temperatures above freezing for the first time in many days. It is snowing again right now. They are talking about rain this afternoon and then it is expected to be snowy and cold for the forseeable future. The quality of the snow continues to be basically perfect, no slush or ice. 

But here's the thing, we have been living in the world of winter, day after day. It's like being on an endless loop of a beautiful ride at the Winter in Vermont Theme Park. I don't know how to get off.

A little over a year ago, a friend gave me an amaryllis. A bud appeared some days ago. It grew from nothing to over two feet in height in a matter of a couple of weeks. It seemed that you could almost see it growing. 

It has four blossoms which I guess is unusual. I can't even get them all in the same photo. Our poinsettias pooped out this year, and I can't remember the last time I've seen colors manifested so vividly. It is heartening to see the zest for life expressed so forcefully at this time of year. It can also be observed in the cries of the chickadees and in the activities of the foxes and coyotes and many other living things. The living exclamation point. 

 

It is in midwinter that I sometimes glean from my pines something more important than woodlot politics, and the news of the wind and weather. This is especially likely to happen on some gloomy evening when the snow has buried all irrelevant detail, and the hush of elemental sadness lies heavy upon every living thing. Nevertheless, my pines, each with his burden of snow, are standing ramrod straight, rank upon rank, and in the dusk beyond I sense the presence of hundreds more. At such times I feel a curious transfusion of courage.

December

A Sand County Almanac

Aldo Leopold

animals

 I guess this is "friends" week on the blog. Earlier in the year one of the readers of this blog made a request. She asked if there could be more photos of animals on the blog. It was in the spring, and I guess she was fed up with all the pictures of wildflowers. I was able to provide a few, but not many.

I recently received a trail camera for my birthday. After a slow start, the photos are starting to come in. There have been amazing advances in trail cameras. This version sends the photos to us so that I see them on my phone and on the home computer. And so to that particular blog reader, you know who you are, here you go!

 

fortunate

 

Last week I mentioned that I had caught some mice in Havahart traps and was moving them out of the house. I got an email from a friend asking to discuss this activity. I called him and he explained a little bit about the life of mice. He said that they had a territory that could be measured in feet, and if they are transported out of that area, they are lost. He likened it to moving someone out of their home in Vermont, transporting them to the middle of the Arctic, and leaving them there without food and shelter. To make a long story short, I said I realized that moving them was a long shot, but at least I was giving them a chance. He said that realistically they have no chance at survival and that what I considered to be a kind behavior was actually a cruel one. I have not used the Havahart traps since I spoke with him.

I have been a member of the Vermont Zen Center for many years. It's about an hour and a half away, and I have car pooled with a small group of people for many years. Over time, my relationship with those people has increased in value. I feel that I can bring up anything to this group of people, and they will give me an honest, yet compassionate reply. I value my friendship with these people very, very much.

I feel the same way about the friend mentioned above. This kind of a relationship is like a refuge, a place where you get what you need to hear rather than what you want to hear. I feel so fortunate to have people like this in my life.

Candlemas Day

 Half your wood and half your hay should still be left by Candlemas Day. Today is Candlemas Day. How's your hay supply holding up?

watching

 17 below on Sunday morning. Neck warmer up over the mouth and nose on the morning walk. Snowflakes sting the eyes when walking into the wind.

Cry of a hawk from a grove of pine trees. Owl sitting on a branch near the back field...watching.

I hear the wind flow, and I feel that it was worth being born just to hear the wind blow.

Fernando Pessoa

Zen page-a-day calendar